


Big Iron

by FatDragonLair



Category: The Smoke Room
Genre: Character Study, Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatDragonLair/pseuds/FatDragonLair
Summary: William teaches Sam and pals about gun safety.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Big Iron

_BANG!_

What was once a bottle that sat to four other bottles was turned into a pile of glass within a mere second. Smoke wafts from the just fired revolver shining so brightly from the morning sun before it was blown out by the lips of it's wielder, William. The coyote holds out the gun to the four men standing before him and smirked. "This, my gentlemen," he spoke in a both condescending and compensating tone "is a Webley Revolver. It takes .455 rounds, which isn't hard to come by these parts. Takes six bullets at a time, and is what every sheriff and deputy in this country uses. William had a spark of pride in his weapon and profession when he kept talking in front of the fox, badger, stoat, and cougar. All four of them groggily trying to keep focus. Especially Samuel, who just had a client last evening that he had to tend to. If he was more awake, he'd probably throw a playful insult to the sheriff.

Before the insult could be fully formed in the exhausted cat's head, the stoat slowly raised his arm like as if he was back in grade school. "Er... Excuse me, William." Spoke the stoat in a soft yet high pitched tome. His accent was clear evidence he wasn't around here if his clothing style didn't tip you off. "Is this the reason why you woke us up so early? Couldn't this have waited for later in the day where we're more... awake?" The stoat had a look of minor insomnia, mostly due to him staying up til the dead of night studying "an-tro-pol-gy" or whatever it was called when the stoat student explained it to Samuel. Truth be told, the student looked rather cute with his slightly disheveled fur as it seemed that he wasn't given enough time to groom himself. 

The sheriff let out a slightly frustrated huff and spoke again, holding his gun with the barrel aimed at the sky and his finger off the trigger. "Cliff, folks are getting anxious. Murderer's still out there and it's only a matter of time until the perpetrator strikes again. I'm doing this because not only do I find you four to be trustworthy with something like this, but also for both your and the town's safety. Todd and I can only cover so much ground, you know." He wasn't wrong, but the feeling of holding such a powerful tool give them all a sick feeling in their stomach. Even a child knew that guns are a terrifying thing, as it can end a life in an instant compared to a knife, fists, or even a pick axe. 

The fox sighs and walks towards William and holds out his hand. Despite looking tired from late night photography, he was still dressed in a rather stylish aesthetic that made him stand out with his "casual business man" attire and camera lazily hanging on his neck. "Will, bud." which caused the sheriff to give him a harsh look, leading the fox to lighten his playful tone a notch. "I gotta be doing some work for the school in a bit, so why doncha lemme have a spin at this thing?" It clearly took a moment for the fox to wake from his grogginess and act more like his usual cocky self when William was demonstrating the gun. He took the gun from William, who's rather hesitant in giving such a thing to a smug prick like him. The fox then took a wide stance and stuck his gun wielding hand out. The tongue poked out of his muzzle as he pulled the trigger. 

"Murdoch wa-"

_BANG!_

"FUCK! SON OF A BITCH!!!" Murdoch cried out, dropping the gun using using his left hand to cover the wrist of his right. William sighed as he looked at the still standing bottles and picked the revolver up to dust off the newly added dirt.

"This is why you hold the gun with two hands. The kickback on guns can be too strong to handle with one hand." The sheriff explained to Murdoch, who is looking at him with an expression of annoyance. "Just be glad it didn't break your wrist, pretty boy. Cliff! You're up!"

The stoat was surprised that he was called upon next, but knew that trying to explain his way out of using a weapon would fall on deaf ears. Cliff took a deep breath and took a stance that was less stylish and more practical. He held the gun up for a long time, so long that it took the others to notice his arms were starting to give out from holding the gun. Samuel's ears perked a bit as he could have sworn the stoat was murmuring equations to himself as he aimed. It felt like hours before the stoat finally fired, only for the iron bullet to graze the bottle and slammed into the heavily reinforced back of the Sheriff's office. Cliff lets out a sigh of both relief and frustration before handing the gun back to William. "I-I don't think guns are for me, sir." spoke the ashamed stoat.

"No shit." William replied, spitting at the ground and cocking the revolver once more. "The amount of time it took you to aim would have caused you or someone else's death. Stick to whatever you people use to kill each other in Batavia." It was difficult for anyone to tell if William's joking anymore as his tone has progressively gotten more and more annoyed. "Alright, Nik-" The sheriff paused before he looked at Nikolai's large badger hands which led to Nikolai to timidly hide his hands behind his back. "Fuckin' hell... Forgot you're big enough to just crush a man with your bare hands. Sam, you're up."

Nikolai looked down and timidly asks Murdoch in his thicker than Cliff's acent "A-Are my hands that big?" The fox only shrugged, still holding onto his wrist.

The snow white cougar anxiously stepped up and felt both the warmth of William's hand and the freezing cold of the iron revolver. With a huff of exhaustion, Samuel held the gun up, aimed at the glass bottle. His breathing slowly grew uneasy as he began to think back to the mines. It was dark, grimy, and difficult to breathe with both the stench of sulfur and fresh iron. He thought of the sudden betrayal, the visceral violence that followed up seconds later. The bloodcurdling screams, the lack of holding back punches, the tears that welled up, the sounds of bones cracking, the screams one makes when they're dying. Jack. He thought of Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack JackJackJackJackJ̴̪̱͍̏͊ȃ̶̧͉͓͒͑̋c̷̡̾̌̌̃k̴͎͕̹͉̈́͐̚J̴̤̦̋̏̽͝a̷̧͕̝̎c̷̡̬̖̻̅k̶͖͙̋̈́̋͘ͅĴ̶̞̬á̶̯̮̩͚̽̆̈́-̷̎͗̓ -

_**BANG!** _

With that, Samuel was taken out of his horrid trance. It took him a moment to regain his surroundings as he spotted one bottle missing from the line of bottles, now only three stood. What followed was a series of claps and compliments to the cat for landing a shot. However, he wasn't able to hear what they were saying as his chest kept beating rapidly. He looked down to his gun, smoke still wavering out of the long barrel. Lazily, the gun fell off his hand and onto the ground. Sam wasn't able to hear anything outside the slight high pitched ring. Though really, he chose to listen to that instead of everything else. The sounds of celebration, followed by concern, by William's shouts of genuine worry, by opening and closing of doors, the soothing bar music, the questions from Cynthia that went from "How did it go?" to "Are you okay?", the shutting of another door, and then the sounds of his own crying.


End file.
